I have a guilty pleasure, one most peculiar,
I've taken time to think about time and time again,
I still don't have answer for this problem however.
December cold, sleet hitting people on the streets,
I felt a chill down my spine while walking, one of a unconscious retreat,
I faded out, losing any feeling in myself,
and watched the movie from the front row seat of my mind.
There I was, looking around as if trying to hide,
When a man appeared, smile and gun in hand.
One, two, he tried to shoot,
Three, four, he lying on the floor,
Five, six, his arms broke like bloody sticks,
Seven, eight, another punch would decide his mangled state,
Nine, ten... I came back to, watching in horror what I did.
His body lay broken on the floor, his gun wrenched inside his mouth and forcefully shoved in,
His hands both squished with imprint of my shoe,
His neck was twisted, like a gnarled branch,
And his arms were ripped out of their sockets, blood dripping and pouring out on the floor from both limbs.
As I stood there, blood, shock, and terror covering my face,
I told myself that nothing would happen countless times,
And walked away, no traces except for images in my brain.
Yet tonight I stare up at that moon once more,
Ah, the movie's about to start again...